


A Wrinkle (a path to trace)

by Filigranka



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Angst, F/M, Inspired by Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 13:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20210608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: Wrinkle - 1. A slight line or fold in something, especially fabric or the skin of the face. 2. (informal) A minor difficulty.(Helen, Hector, a conversation - and Troy plus destiny always between them)





	A Wrinkle (a path to trace)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/gifts).

At first, when the envoys from Helen's _ex-husband_ came, Troy laught at them. “Would you start a war for me?” became the fashionable, joking question to ask your lover. And the answer was always “Yes, yes, yes.”

The fashion started dying when the first Achaeans’ ships appeared on the horizon, when the first troops landed on Trojan shore. First deaths killed it for good.

Now, years of the war after, even the jest's memory seems shameful. So Helen is surprised and hurt upon hearing it from Hector. And when she has just tended his wounds!

‘It haven’t been an appropriate flirting line in years.’ She turns her head away from his kisses.

He doesn’t understand for a moment. Then shakes his head.

‘But I mean it. Literally. I fight for you just as much as for Troy and her people.’

Helen supposes it should be comforting, to be loved so much – by so many. But instead, she swallows down the question if “people of Troy” means his wife and her husband, too. If she’s not one of them, still and forever a foreigner.

‘Yet you never allows me to come admire your fight and cheer you up from the walls,’ she says instead, placing a hand on his bicep; careful to not touch the injury.

Perhaps it’s her version of a plea.

‘I can’t. My father would never allow it. He fears, and rightly so, that the sight of your beauty would remind Achaeans what they fight for. Strengthen their resolve.‘

‘Do you really think they forgot?’ If they were younger, if the _war_ was younger, this might be another flirting line, “do you think me so forgettable?”, a sweet, pouting face and a lock of hair tactically escaping from the braid.

As it stands, the question is deadly serious, the face – sweet, cursed with sweetness, but tired; the lock of hair falls down Helen’s cheek, because the braid was hastily made after she had heard Achaeans had been preparing yet another attack.

‘No,’ answers Hector. ‘If they had done, they’d have returned to their lands long ago. I don’t think it’s possible to forget you.’

So there will be no peace, only the victory or the crushing defeat, thinks Helen. But before she can voice this thought – she isn’t sure she wants to voice it all – Hector adds:

‘I certainly can’t. I always carry your image beneath my eyelids. In my bed, in fight…’ He laughs, but there’s no joy in it. ‘I suppose I’ll keep seeing it even after my death. You and Troy.’

She shivers and there’s no hiding it, for bandages and pins fall from her hands; yet she tries, forcing herself to laugh: ‘I’ll be old, all grey hair and wrinkles, long before you die!’

‘I’m sure you’ll remain the most beautiful woman of the world until the end of your days.’

‘It is written,’ she says flatly. ‘Promised.’

‘So I’ll be happy to see Gods making good on their promise. If I survive long enough.’ He shrugs his good shoulder. ‘I’m a warrior and the loving son of Troy and Priam. I can’t promise you – my heart is yours to command, but my life’s not.’

‘But you do fight _for me_, too.’

‘And I’ll continue to do so, even if my father changes his mind. But then – not in Troy.’

So let’s escape now, she wants to say, take Paris with us – she can’t leave him behind, much as this stubborn, almost alien attachment surprises her – and leave Troy behind, finally free from us and safe.

Providing Achaeans would content themselves with pursuing them and leaving Troy with its treasures behind, returning empty-handed, without a vengeance or coins, from the war which already cost them, if the rumours are true, much more than just gold.

Hector kisses her forehead.

‘I came back victorious today – let’s hope I’ll keep doing so. I’ll be glad if I preserve my honour – if anyone will weep after me, if the world'll remember my name, for this is the only immortality this life has to offer – but whenever I’ll die and wherever I’ll end up after, if I’m going to see you and Troy in your eternal glory – it’ll be Elysium.’

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to incorporate the feeling of both songs:  
Two Slow Dancers - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUfkfJfsKrc  
Oblivion - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZYisBWNtO0


End file.
